


Strange Bedfellows

by sinmccoppins (chatnchew)



Category: DC Elseworlds, DCU, DCU (Animated), DCU (Comics), Justice League - All Media Types, Justice League: Crisis on Two Earths
Genre: Alien/Human Relationships, Alternate Universe - Pre-Canon, Anal Beads, Blow Jobs, Character Study, Crimes & Criminals, Earth-3, Enemas, M/M, Mirror Universe, Not Beta Read, Oral Sex, Organized Crime, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Power Dynamics, Power Play, Pre-Canon, Sex Toys, Vibrators, Wordcount: 1.000-3.000, Wordcount: 1.000-5.000, Wordcount: Over 1.000, Wordcount: Under 10.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-12
Updated: 2019-05-12
Packaged: 2020-03-01 10:10:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18798238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chatnchew/pseuds/sinmccoppins
Summary: "For a pensive moment Owlman was silent. His gut told him to respond, in a dry tone,we are not friends. The Crime Syndicate was not a league of acquaintances; even with Superwoman, his sometimes-lover, nothing close to real camaraderie was felt between them. They did business together. They ruled together. But even so, he had to admit that there was some twisted kind of trust the bosses of the Crime Syndicate rested in one another. It was necessary to consolidate their power, to maintain their oligarchy. A bit of vulnerability was required.That did not, however, indicateattachment."





	Strange Bedfellows

**Author's Note:**

> I was stricken with the urge to write something relating to the film _Justice League: A Crisis on Two Earths_ after listening to (and re-listening to... several times) [the wonderful theme](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FztJNLfTGbM) composed by James L. Venable (of other cartoon music fame) that accompanies its opening credits. As much as I love every character in the film, Superwoman is by far my favorite. As a result, why I went and wrote what I did, with these two, is a mystery even to me. I managed to bang this all out in a relatively short time and with relative ease; I can only hope it reads as nicely as it was to write it. 
> 
> Also, to further clarify: this does not take into account any continuity featuring Earth-3 (and variations thereupon) from the comics and is solely based on the film, save for the civilian identities of the characters in question. And with that said, I must admit they may be a little out of character, but hopefully just so far as the fact that these two fuck as otherwise... Well, they wouldn't, would they?
> 
> All of that out of the way, I hope you enjoy!

The Crime Syndicate’s moon base tended to be abandoned after certain hours. Criminals liked to revel in the fruits of their corrupted labor, and to do so they had to return to Earth. Most criminals, that was. Owlman had lived the playboy lifestyle, as the second son of two billionaire parents, nearly his entire life. It bored him. Crime was about more than riches and drugs and wild sexual indulgences. It was about holding others by the throat, pinching their jugular with your talons and knowing that _they_ knew you could, at any time, squeeze just tight enough to end them.

So he stayed on base, in front of the wide monitor of their powerful computer, and crunched numbers. Analyzed assets. Ran background checks. Polished the silver, so to speak. Everyone else in the Syndicate prefered to exercise their muscle over their intellect– and some of them lacked intellect to begin with. But not him. Every night he stayed behind, if even for a couple of hours, and he reflected over the empire. Preparing for future conquest.

Even so, Ultraman gliding up behind him was not a surprise.

“Burnin’ the midnight oil?” A trite question that didn’t deserve acknowledgement, let alone an answer. But Owlman turned in his chair nonetheless and stared at the Kryptonian from behind his heavy cowl, unblinking even underneath the protective eyewear. The typical cocksure smirk, instead of the also prevalent deep scowl, was tugging at the left corner of Ultraman’s lips.

“What is it you want, Ultraman?” The übermensch chortled at his clipped response.

“C’mon, Tommy, don’t be like that. We’re friends.” Ultraman took a seat on (or rather, hovered right above) an armrest of his fellow don’s chair. “Can’t a guy just be interested in some conversation? Ain’t like there’s anybody else around.”

For a pensive moment Owlman was silent. His gut told him to respond, in a dry tone, _we are not friends._ The Crime Syndicate was not a league of acquaintances; even with Superwoman, his sometimes-lover, nothing close to real camaraderie was felt between them. They did business together. They ruled together. But even so, he had to admit that there was some twisted kind of trust the bosses of the Crime Syndicate rested in one another. It was necessary to consolidate their power, to maintain their oligarchy. A bit of vulnerability was required. That did not, however, indicate _attachment_. Owlman pressed his lips into a firm line.

“Perhaps,” was his response. He half-turned back to the computer screen. “And as such, Ultraman, I know you well enough to ascertain the very reason you waited to approach me until it was just you and I alone up here.”

The broad hand that came to rest on his shoulder confirmed Owlman’s suspicions. He felt coolness of one of the golden manacles that adorned Ultraman’s wrists against his cheek. And he smelled cologne– heady and masculine and expensive. Owlman didn’t know Ultraman normally bothered to wear cologne, but given how fresh the scent was it was likely he’d put it on just for the occasion.

It was in Ultraman’s nature, he supposed, to be hard-headed and create challenges for himself. He could very easily have any number of attractive people in his bedroom if he wanted. Even without coercion or threat. And yet here he was, kneading the shoulders of his fellow don. It was funny, really; if Owlman were just a smidge less restrained he might’ve laughed. He allowed himself a smile instead, one that betrayed his sense of being _flattered_ without his realizing.

“No one around to watch you make such a blatant and, frankly, poor attempt to seduce me,” he conceded. On the monitor he drew up a folder pertaining to a certain drug operation in Blüdhaven and began perusing the files, but his attention was most certainly still on Ultraman. That hand was snaking down his back now, pressed between the chair and his shoulder blades in an undoubtedly uncomfortable position. Owlman wondered why he bothered with the physical approach. He was not one to bend to desires of the flesh so easily. But Ultraman persisted.

“Exactly,” Ultraman said, chuckling. _Points for good humor,_ Owlman mused. Humor– another trait that colored their relation somewhat like friendship.

“You’re a real hardass, you know.” Ultraman withdrew his hands. “‘Suppose it’s why the wheels of our operation keep turnin’. But you can afford to take a break every now and then, right?”

Owlman paused in his browsing and turned his head a minute angle in Ultraman’s direction. “Why do you propose I take such a ‘break’ with you?”

Suddenly his chair was spun around and he was forced to regard the Ultraman head on. His lopsided smile had transformed– still boisterous, of course, but his half-lidded eyes and barely-pursed lips edged away at his bravado... And made him more desirable. Owlman slowly gave him a once over before locking their gazes as he awaited his answer.

“Because I’m the only person in this whole joint you can trust.”

There was no one in the world that Thomas Wayne, Jr. trusted– but he supposed that out of all the members of the Crime Syndicate, Ultraman was the one he could _predict_ the best. And in that predictability there was a sort of comfort. The knowledge that he would never kill him was paramount in creating his ease. Not even with Superwoman did he feel such security. _SHAZAM_ was a word that rested always underneath his tongue.

And then a moment’s further contemplation had him acquiescing just a bit further. Ultraman, in turn, could rest easy knowing Owlman could never kill him. Every speck of blue kryptonite on Earth had been blasted to smithereens. Even the chunk he’d kept in a pouch on his utility belt; back in the early days, during a time when power under someone else seemed like an intolerable situation. The fact that Ultraman did not immediately bore holes right through his brain with his heat vision made it clear to Owlman that he was of value to him. He served too great a function as a fellow don. And now, as was clear, as a personal confidant as well.

To Owlman’s great surprise, Ultraman softened as he kissed him. He slid right into the other’s lap and let him take control, not resisting whatsoever when the kiss deepened. A low groan rose out of Ultraman, and when Owlman parted (he, unlike the otherworldly titan, had to breathe) the Kryptonian’s simper was almost dreamy. Owlman cupped the side of his face with a hand, the clawed tips of his gloves grazing across unbreakable alien skin.

“I see now why you came to me,” he murmured. “You’ve been yearning to experience an exchange of power. Being the Boss of Bosses weighs on your shoulders like the Earth on Atlas’s. And you know that I’m the only person on the planet who wouldn’t take a mile when given an inch. So to speak.” Owlman smiled. “And here I thought you were acting on a whim.”

“You don’t get to _be_ the Boss of Bosses actin’ on whims,” Ultraman returned. “I run casinos, not play in ‘em.”

“Make no mistake, Ultraman, this was still a gamble. Even men like yourself are subject to the probability that governs the universe. Your luck just happens to often be in your favor.” Owlman stood them both up, grasping Ultraman by the shoulders as he rose. “As it is now.”

Ultraman’s good humor had persisted through Owlman’s petite lecture. “Spare me the nihilist shit, alright? It makes for better pillow talk anyway.” He hoisted the human close, and a few inches off the ground, by a hand placed steady at the small of his back. It was a move that reminded Owlman that he was being _given_ , not taking, dominion over Ultraman. The Kryptonian brought the two to Owlman’s spacious living quarters. He set his new lover back on solid ground once the door automatically closed and locked behind them.

“Keen of you to bring us to my room,” Owlman mused.

“I figured you had a shitton of kinky stuff in here,” Ultraman returned. He regarded Owlman with an amused, knowing look. The walls to his room were lead-lined (another sign of trust, even if he was rarely in it). One could not be a mafioso, Owlman supposed, if they could not predict even the most intimate aspects of a person’s calibrations. “You use any of it on Mary?”

“What Superwoman and I do is to remain between her and I.” Owlman crossed the dark wood floor to the wall opposite the door. He pressed an innocuous spot that glowed under his touch, and in an instant a large hidden panel opened up. A rack of various devices, some more immediately recognizable as sex toys than others, were revealed. He turned to his guest with a coy mien of his own. “Just as what will happen here tonight will remain us. Now get undressed and lie down on the bed.” The grin on Ultraman’s face almost made his heart skip a beat.

“Yes, sir.”

 

* * *

 

“How are you feeling, Clark?”

In the interest of retaining as much autonomy Owlman had opted to not remove his armor; Ultraman expressed “being into that” and didn’t try to press him. Owlman’s sexuality tended to be rather errant. It was often a greater thrill to induce pleasure in others than it was to receive any. And so he had taken preparing his new lover for what was to come.

“I’m– ‘m good,” Ultraman panted. His words were muddled by the pillow he’d taken to hugging. “It’s just…”

“Different.” Owlman squeezed the bulb of the syringe deep in Ultraman’s ass, and another rush of saline solution had him shuddering. His Kryptonian physiology evidently rendered even the more intimate parts of his anatomy resilient; the slight swell of his stomach stirred a bit of Owlman’s arousal. Surely the average human would have been in pain from the pressure by now... “I think you’re about ready. Go relieve yourself and then we can move on.”

While he was alone, Owlman was left to consider what toys he wanted to use for the evening. Given Ultraman’s evident inexperience in the role of bottom, the more exotic devices would be off the table. From his collection he selected a set of onyx anal beads and a hefty vibrator with a soft, rounded head. Custom built for sessions such as this: informal experiments in the realm of pleasure conducted in the bedroom.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been this clean back there.” Ultraman’s crass, while not incorrect, remark was the signal of his return. His eyes widened (but his smile did not diminish) when he spotted Owlman coating the beads thoroughly in lube. “What’re you planning with all that?”

Owlman returned his smile. “Lie down and you’ll find out.”

He had to admit that he could get used to the sight of the don lying atop his silken sheets. Ultraman was, as his name made so clear, an adonis. Not every metahuman had the benefit of being so well-built, though. A gloved, clawed hand was drawn over his toned stomach in appreciation.

“I don’t want you touching yourself.” Owlman levied Ultraman a stern stare. “Were I certain you wouldn’t accidentally break them, I’d go through the decorum of putting you in restraints. But I suppose an order can be as binding as a pair of handcuffs.”

Ultraman smirked and folded his hands behind the pillow cradling his head. “You got it, babe.”

The vibrator was turned onto a low setting, and Ultraman sighed softly once the head was pressed against his half-hard dick. It provided just enough stimulation to be mildly pleasurable. Owlman’s aim, for the moment, was just to get him aroused. And after about half a minute he was fully erect, precum beading at the head of his cock. Owlman took note of its shape and size. Ultraman’s dick had a girth and length that was impressive... And tantalizing. Every now and then it throbbed enticingly. Ultraman, however, was not at all aware of his staring.

“That feels real nice,” he murmured. After a quick flush of surprise a pleased demeanor fell upon on Owlman’s expression.

“That’s the aim.” The first bead of the toy in his other hand was pressed against the Ultraman’s loosening entrance. “I want you to _relax_.” After a second, he relented and groaned quietly as the bead slipped inside. The power of the virbator was kicked up a notch with a mere tap of Owlman’s finger.

Another bead, greater in size than the first, was pushed in; another increase in vibration accompanied it. Slowly Ultraman’s composure was eroded as more and more pressure was building on his prostate, and more and more stimulation was applied to his cock. By the time the last and largest bead was swallowed up by his loosened hole he was sweating, red in the face, and struggling to not reveal the new high pitch in his voice. The vibrator was making quite the racket, too, as the powerful motor spun the plush head against the length of his dick. Owlman’s now free hand massaged the sinew of Ultraman’s left thigh, gentle but purposeful.

“Look at how wet you are,” he murmured. “I would have never guessed I could make you so aroused, Clark.”

“T–” Ultraman shut his eyes and swallowed away the dryness in his throat. His hips bucked upwards sporadically, but Owlman drew back the vibrator with each of his thrusts. “T-Thomas, I… Christ, this feels so good, but I’m n-not…”

“Not quite getting there?” The power of the vibrator was turned down a few notches and the hum diminished considerably. “I’ll amend my rule, then. Rub your nipples.”

It was an absolute wonder to see Ultraman blush. A question was clearly on his mind but, to spare himself the further ignominy, he simply did as he was told. He rolled his thumbs across the sensitive areas of his chest and drew soft noises of pleasure from himself as a result.

“ _Fuck_ , that does feel good.” He gave his nipples a pinch and gasped. Precum started running down the length of his cock in rivers. “O-Oh, shit, _Thomas–_ ” Owlman did him another kindness and turned up the strength of the vibrator, pushing the motor as far as it would go. It was enough to drive Ultraman over the edge; he shut his eyes and moaned as he came all over his stomach and chest, rutting against the toy with abandon.

Owlman turned off and set aside the vibrator. He ran his palm down the length of Ultraman’s heaving chest and flexing abdomen, gathering up most of his cum before bringing it to his lips. Ultraman didn’t have to be told what to do. He instantly went to work licking Owlman’s hand clean, not at all minding the sharpened tips of his gloves as his tongue glided over and between the other’s fingers.

“I wanna suck you off,” Ultraman breathed once his mouth was free. “Please.”

Owlman twisted ring at the end of the beads still deep in Ultraman’s ass, earning another moan from him. “These will stay in while you do so,” he instructed. Ultraman nodded tersely. The absolute obedience he was displaying was so effortless. His desire for such events to play out must have been more intense than Owlman could have ever predicted.

Only a single piece of his armor had to be removed to free his burgeoning arousal. He took a seat at the edge of his bed, and Ultraman was quick to kneel between his legs. He set his tongue immediately, but hesitantly, set to work, swirling around the already-wet head of Owlman’s cock before drawing it up and down the length of his shaft.

“God, you taste good,” Ultraman gasped. Owlman huffed in amusement.

“I haven’t showered yet,” he countered. He groaned as Ultraman sucked at his tip before responding.

“I know.” Another revelation: that Ultraman enjoyed the musk, the raw salt of a man. With his heightened senses, Owlman supposed, it made sense that he did. Either he came to enjoy it or he suffered a life of discomfort every time he neglected to tune out his sense of smell.

Without any fear of a gag reflex, Ultraman was quick to deepthroat his lover’s cock once he was comfortable. Owlman grunted and rolled his hips forward– an action the Ultraman welcomed with a pleased noise of his own. Owlman half-stood and carded his fingers through Ultraman’s voluminous crewcut. He pulled tight at the black hairs as he continued to thrust sharply into his mouth. Eventually he came with a guttural sound, sliding his dick as far down Ultraman’s throat as he could and pinning him in place by the back of his head. A surprise for sure, but painful? Unlikely.

“You have quite a talent for that.” Owlman’s remark was delivered almost breathlessly. He fastened the loose piece of his armor back into place as Ultraman smirked up at him.

“Glad to hear you think so.” He turned around on all fours and wriggled his hips in his lover’s direction. “Would you do me the honors, babe?” His playfulness earned him Owlman’s subdued laughter.

“Try not to make a mess of my floors.” Owlman pulled the beads out slowly– one by one –and delighted in the way Ultraman whimpered and curled his toes as he did so. A bit of precum puddled onto the floor below him, but otherwise he managed to follow the order he’d been given. He stood on trembling ( _trembling, I didn’t know he could tremble_ ) legs once Owlman was done.

“You really know how to show a fella a good time,” he chuckled. Ultraman bent down to give Owlman a kiss– and again he let the other man take charge and explore every inch of his mouth. “Mind of we make this… A regular thing?”

“I certainly wouldn’t mind. But– not too regular.” Owlman smiled up at him with a playfulness that was almost imperceptible on his lips alone. It was a playfulness that Ultraman picked up on with ease; he was certain of it.

“I wouldn’t want you to get too comfortable taking orders.”


End file.
